What We Fight For
by Jameson Rook
Summary: Abandoned by his own country. Burned. Shot. He's been through hell, but will this be the thing that pushes him beyond breaking? How far will Michael Westen go to save the one he loves?
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: Burn Notice and all of its characters belong to Matt Nix and the USA Network. **_

_** Da da DAAAAH! Here it is! The prologue to my multichapter, which I happened to have a dream about, which gave me the idea. This one won't be very long, but it's just supposed to be an introduction and to get a feel for what you guys think of the idea...**_

__**DKougar****, **_**in response to your "Hero of War" review: No...I don't read about that subject a lot. It's more..."you write what you know"...so...yeah.**_

__20 July, 2013

"Where is she?!" I snarled, the gun extended in front of me was quivering as anger surged through my body. The man in front of me was the picture a tranquility. He even had a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

"Mister Westen, I think that we need to calm down here." He muttered, wagging his finger at me like he had some God-given right to tell me what to do. I took a stop closer and placed the gun against his forehead.

"I don't think you're in much of a position to be negotiating here."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong. I'm always in a position to negotiate. That's what's so wonderful about being me. Now, Miss Glenanne is currently still safe, but we need to have a discussion about what I need you to do for me." He stood from the large, over stuffed chair and moved around the desk to stand in front of the large picture window.

He crossed his hands behind his back and hesitated half a second before turning to face me. I leveled a hard glare at him as Sam's voice crackled to life in my comm in my ear.

"Mikey, we've got units mobile, we need to wrap this up and get out like ten minutes ago." I lifted my hand to my ear.

"Yeah, I hear you, but he's not talking. I have to find out where he's hiding her."

"You're not going to figure that out, Mister Westen. This isn't going to do you a damned bit of good." The man standing in front of me growled, the first break in his serene facade.

"WHERE IS FIONA?!" I snapped, surging forward and wrapping my hand in the lapel of his suit jacket before throwing him against the extensive book case. I slammed his head back against the wooden shelves until a trickle of blood trailed down his neck.

"You think that, after all this time, after coordinating that burn notice on you, I would give up that easily?" The man said with a sadistic chuckle. I gaped at him for a moment, at a loss for words.

"But...but I thought..."

"You thought what? That you'd found the man that issued your burn notice? You did. But, the thing is, things are not always as simple as they seem. You, of all poeple, should know that." He chuckled, reaching up and patting my face softly.

The sound of glass breaking away had my attention turning to where Sam had cut a hole in the glass of the window behind the large desk.

"We need to GO!" He barked, waving his hand. I hesitated half a second before growling my frustration and following Sam out the window. We sprinted to the street, blending in with the crowd in the middle of rush hour, and climbed into the car we had waiting. I tore away from the curb and sped towards the safe house.

We were halfway down the street before I glanced in the rearview mirror and watched the White House disappearing into the skyline. Sam finally broke the silence with a scoff.

"Can you believe I voted for that guy?" I was silent, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. "We'll get her back, Mike, I promise." I couldn't help the curl of fear in my stomach, but I knew that I would do everything in my power to get her back.

_ 2 Days Earlier..._

_ "Fi, I couldn't find that wine that you wanted, but I found this one, I think we should try it." I called, stepping into the loft and reading the label on the wine bottle in my hand. Fiona and I had been planning this "date night" for weeks since she'd gotten out of prison. Nate's death and the friction with my mother had effectively put that off, but tonight I intended on showing her how much she meant to me._

_ Had I been looking where I was going, I may have noticed the fact that the door had been forced open. I looked up, glancing around the loft when she didn't respond, but found it completely empty. _

_ "Fiona?" I questioned, jogging up the stairs and looking at the desk at the scattered photographs, but there was something else...a note._

_ I lifted it and scanned over the print briefly, my heart jumping into my throat and my fists clenching. I pulled my phone out and hit the #2 speed dial._

_ "Mikey, this better be good, I've got a cocktail waitress that's about to offer to show me how she shakes a mean martini if you catch my drift." Sam answered, his voice hushed._

_ "Sam, they've got her."_

_ "What? Who has who, now?"_

_ "Someone took Fiona." _


	2. Chapter 2

_When you're going into a high pressure, high risk situation, it's best to shove your personal emotions and motives to the side. Emotions can create unstable environments. However, for a trained operative, they can also be used as a valuable tool. You play up your emotions, make it look like the other guy has the advantage. While he's thinking that he's got you pinned, you're six steps ahead of him. _

I sat restlessly on the edge of the bed, the photographs of me and Fi in Ireland clutched in my hands. I looked down at the light blue jeans that I wore and scowled at the smear of blood from where I'd wiped my knuckles. The anger had settled in after the second or third time I'd read the note that the man who'd taken Fi away had left, and my fist had connected with the metal beside the front door. I inhaled the faint scent of gun oil that lingered on the creases of Fiona's pillow and the silky sheets that she'd insisted on getting for the bed. She was gone. My Fiona was gone...

Sam and Jesse burst through the door together, startling me into pulling my gun and pointing it at them. Jesse held his hands up in surrender, but Sam chose to just continue walking into the loft.

"Sam, I could have killed you." I grumbled, tucking the gun back into the waistband of my jeans. The dig of cool metal into the small of my back was familiar. Comforting. It was something that I could deal with.

"We'll deal with that later. Now, who took Fi?" He questioned, leaning against the workbench and staring at me. I stood and crossed the room to hand him the note numbly. I paced the loft, my hands tangled in my hair as I tried to breath normally. The white tank top that I was wearing suddenly felt too constricting, like I couldn't get enough air into my lungs.

"Mike, this is..." Sam let out a low whistle. "This is bad."

"Don't you think I know that, Sam?" I snapped, shooting a glare at him.

"When did this happen?" Jesse questioned, reading over the note himself.

"I went out to pick up wine," I gestured to the bottle that still sat, unopened, on the counter. "And when I came back, she was gone. That was upstairs when I came back." Jesse handed me the note, and I read over it again, though I had it memorized...

_Mister Westen,_

_ We have Miss Glenanne. She will be kept in our possesion until you complete the tasks that we need from you. She will only remain safe, and unharmed for as long as you agree to cooperate. You don't do what we ask of you, and we will remove a finger. This will continue until she bleeds out and dies. Don't bother calling the police, it won't do you any good. We will be in touch, Mister Westen._

_ Take care._

I took another shallow breath and let the note fall to the floor.

"We're going to find her, Mike." Jesse muttered, his hand falling on my shoulder. I was about to reply, but my phone ringing caught my attention. I slipped it from my pocket and lifted it to my ear without looking at the number.

"Hello?"

"Mister Westen, you're a difficult man to find." The deep, rumbling voice on the other end of the line stated.

"I like to keep a certain air of mystery. Makes me seem more desirable." I deadpanned, glancing between Jesse and Sam. "So, you obviously know who I am, why not return the formality. Who the hell are you?"

"Eh, that's just logistics. You don't need to know who I am just yet. When the time comes you will, though. What you should be more concerned about right now," I heard a pained groan in the background, and a Celtic curse that I would recognize anywhere. "Is Miss Glenanne's safe return. Are you ready to talk business?"

"I generally don't do 'business' with men on the phone. That hasn't exactly worked out well for me in the past." The man gave a hearty chuckle.

"Oh, don't I know that. Burn notice, huh? That's pretty rough." My brow furrowed in confusion and I was silent for a beat. "Yes, I know about your burn notice, but let's not get caught up in the 'who', 'how', 'why' of it all. If you want Miss Glenanne to come back to you in one piece instead of being scattered into the ocean for the sharks, you'll listen very closely."

"Go on." I growled through gritted teeth.

"I need you to meet my associate at the fishing docks, tonight. Midnight."

"Your associate? No, no, I want to meet you there. Not some 'associate' who would probably put a gun to my head sooner than he would shake my hand." I replied.

"I think that you're going about this all wrong, Westen. We aren't the horrible people that you seem to assume we are."

"What can I say? Someone kidnaps a woman from my apartment, I tend to think the worst of them. Not exactly a great first impression. Perhaps next time you should go with a cheese and wine basket. Much more subtle." The sarcasm was dripping off of my words as I stopped in front of the work bench and placed my free hand on the surface.

"You know, they told me you had a sense of humor, but this is _far_ from what I was expecting, Michael." I have a humorless chuckle in lieu of an actual response. "We'll expect you at the meeting place at midnight. Don't be late, Michael."

"I want Fiona there. I don't make a deal with you if I don't see that she is alive and well. Don't you hurt a single hair on her head!" I said on a fake whimper. Jesse and Sam watched me knowingly, a faint smile of approval playing on their lips.

"Very well than. Be careful what you wish for, Mister Westen." And with that, the line went dead. I flipped the phone shut and tucked it back into my pocket. I glared at the table in front of me, my chest heaving, before lashing out and clearing the table with one arm.

"Mike!" Sam barked, his hands grasping my biceps and turning me to face him. "Look, brother, I know you're hurting, but you need to get ahold of yourself. You're going to be no use to Fi if you go off the deep end now. You need to hold it together long enough to get her back." I glared at him, my eyes wild, before I relented a bit and nodded. "Now, what'd they say?"

"They want to meet. Tonight at midnight, down at the fishing docks. He's sending an 'associate' to tell me their terms."

"Money?" Jesse questioned, his brow furrowed.

"I don't think so. He knew about my burn notice, so he knows that I don't have anything worth kidnapping someone over."

"So, you're thinking more of a skills-trade?" Sam questioned, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a yogurt.

"I think so. He said that they need me to do something. Looks like we're going to have a bit of a high pressure job." Sam and Jesse nodded, their faces somber.

"So, what do we do until then?" Jesse questioned. I started at the floor between my feet for a moment before answering.

"We prepare."

**x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x **

I stood on the dock, fidgeting from foot to foot. I wasn't nervous, per se, but I needed the man that I was meeting to think that. It wasn't long before the black SUV (a bit of a cliche, if you ask me) pulled up and flashed their lights at me.

I stepped closer, shielding my eyes with my hand against the brightness of the headlights. The driver's door swung open and a large man in a suit climbed out.

"Where is she?" I questioned, my voice cold.

"She's in the truck." The man stated, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

"I want to see her before this goes any further." I growled, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. He rolled his eyes, but went to the back seat of the SUV and pulling Fiona out. My stomach clenched when I saw her.

Her hair was tangled and her skin was slick with sweat that had strayed to the white fabric of her tank top, but I had never seen her looking more beautiful. It was the handcuffs around her wrists and the gag in her mouth that had been the final straw. A single tear strayed down my stubbled cheek before dripping off of my chin onto my shirt.

"So, you've seen her. Now, let's talk." The man said, shoving Fiona back toward the SUV. She stumble briefly before regaining her balance and glaring at the man. I stepped closer until I was no more than a hairsbreadth away from the man. His breath smelled of beef jerky, and cheap coffee.

"What does you boss want?"

"He wants you to cooperate. He needs a favor that only you can do."

"That's still not telling me what you need me to do." I snapped, beginning to get fed up with the way that he was beating around the bush. Before I could open my mouth and reply, the grip of the man's pistol connected with my temple.

Stars bloomed in front of my eyes and I lunged forward, my shoulder connecting with the man's stomach. I regained my balance and began throwing punches at his face. He let out a muffled groan around the blood that seeped between his teeth.

Staggering to my feet, I moved to Fiona, my hands outstretched as I gathered her into my arms.

"Fi, I'm so glad you're okay." She whimpered and buried her face in my neck, the hot trail of tears scorching down my neck. Just as I pulled away, her eyes widened as she looked at something over my shoulder.

_"Michael! Watch out!"_ She bellowed, causing me to spin around. Before I could react, the crowbar connected with my temple and plunged me into darkness.

**x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x xx x **

I jumped awake, my breath catching as I glanced around. My wrists were rubbed raw from the rope that bound them to a chair. The room was pitch black, and I couldn't see anything. My eye was nearly swollen shut from where the crowbar had hit me.

The next thing that I knew, a bright light flashed on, causing me to squint. Good God, I was in one of my own interrogation tricks.

"Good to see you're getting comfortable, Mister Westen." I recognized the voice from the phone and I squinted to see who was standing behind the light.

"Well, the turndown service leaves something to be desired. They forgot the little mint on my pillow. Other than that, things are just dandy." The man stepped in front of the light and my jaw dropped.

"It's good to finally meet the man behind the legend, Michael. Your reputation precedes you."

_"Mister President?"_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Burn Notice marathon on Cloo? Perfect way to ride out the hurricane. Though, the scene in "Broken Promises" where Fi kicks Michael's ass was cut off thanks to the damned storm. Not. Impressed. We've got rain so hard that I can't see my truck from my porch, thunder that is shaking the foundation of my house, and trees covering my driveway. Grand old time. **_

_** Only good part of a hurricane: I get to use the quote "Just stay away from the windows. Actually, that's always good advice...".**_

"_Mister President?_" I questioned, trying to reel in my slack jaw. He circled closer to me and reached out to place his hand on my shoulder.

"That's right. Now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk." He waved his hand to one of the dark corners and a large man with a knife emerged, stalking toward me. I flinched internally as he reached down and cut the ropes binding my hands and feet. I stood slowly, rubbing at the purple circles on my wrists as I tried to jumpstart the circulation back to my hands, and leveled a glare at the President's back.

President Richard Dunbar. A republican candidate that had been voted in with a mountain of debt, a financial system that had more hidden accounts than a Swiss bank, and a government that was so corrupt it was barely recognizable. It had only been six years since I'd been issued my burn notice, but the switch in "protocol" was so drastically different that I was pretty sure I had whiplash.

"So, this is how the g-men are doing things these days? Kidnapping and intimidation? I thought that was strictly spy territory." I questioned around the swelling that had begun in my lower lip.

"Michael, don't play dumb." Dunbar replied, rolling his eyes. "This is how 'g-men', as you so delicately put it, have been doing things for years. It's simply business. I'm sure you understand?" He questioned, the typical 'cat that got the canary' politician smile.

"Either way." I pulled a shrug, ignoring the pain that shot through all of my muscles with the action. "What do you need me for, Dunbar?"

"You see, there is a..." He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips a moment before continuing. "Well, let's call him an asset, shall we? I'm sure that's a term that you're comfortable with. He helped me out on my campaign trail, but now he's getting a bit too overzealous with claims that I 'owe him something' for his assistance. As if the salary that I paid him wasn't enough."

"And? I don't know why a man getting greedy is shocking to you. Politics is a dirty game."

"Mister Westen, _espionage_ is a dirty game. Politics is a psychological arms race. There is a big difference."

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other. That doesn't clarify what you need me for." I questioned, my face stoic.

"Well, isn't it obvious? I need you to...take care of my problem for me. Word on the grapevine is that this is the sort of work you're doing now."

"I don't kill innocent men, Dunbar. Collateral damage in a job to help a good person is different than setting out with the intent to kill a man who wants nothing more than to settle an old score with a dirty politician."

"Yes, but that's where you're wrong, Michael. You're going to do this job for me, because I have something you want back. Remember?" He stated with a shark smile. My stomach churned.

"Where is she?" I snarled, my voice low and dangerous.

"She's in a secure location. Nothing that you need to worry about. We're keeping her safe."

"In my experience, secure locations are never that secure, and safe is never really _safe_." I snapped, leveling a glare at him. "I want to see her."

"When we've finished our little discussion. Patience." I sighed and raked my fingers through my hair roughly.

"Okay. Where can I find this guy?"

"My associates will deliver a file to your loft with all of the information that you'll need."

"No offense, but I usually prefer to do my own research. Less chance that the information has been compromised."

"Well, than I guess it's a good thing that you're not in a position to negotiate the circumstances of this deal, isn't it?" He replied, his voice raising for the first time since the discussion had started. I gave him an unamused glance and shook off the statement.

"Fine. But, if there is anything, and I mean _anything_ in that file that compromises this job because it was wrong? I'll kill your little gophers. And then? Then I'll kill you." My voice was colder than the arctic. "Now, let me see Fiona."

Dunbar lifted his hand and waved it to the corner of the room again. His goon came forward, his beefy hand closed around Fi's upper arm. She glared at the large man, her teeth tight around the gag in her mouth. I pushed down the flutter of relief that I felt and nodded at Dunbar.

"Are you alright, Fi?" I called out, making sure that my voice was steady as I spoke. She nodded slowly, her eyes locking with mine. The pleading look there was something that I wasn't used to seeing from someone as strong as Fiona. "Okay. I'll do it. Just...don't hurt her." The large man pulled Fiona away, leaving me alone with Dunbar.

"That's so good to hear. We'll be in touch, Michael."

The world went black as the hood was tugged over my head. Fantastic.


	4. Chapter 4

_**So, I am sorry that this took forever to post, but I got halfway through the original chapter, and I had a completely different idea. I hope you guys enjoy it. I know it's not very long, but I want to use it to set up for the next chapter. **_

__"So, let me see if I've got this straight, Mikey." Sam started, running his hand over his chin and hesitating before continuing. "The _president_ kidnapped you and he is the one that has Fi? And then told you that, if you want to see her again, you're going to have to do this job for him?"

"That's the basic idea of it, Sam." I nodded, lifting the spoon of yogurt to my mouth, but finding that I couldn't seem to convince myself to eat anything. My stomach was twisting and churning with the anxiety that only seemed to surface when Fi was in danger.

"I still don't understand why the President would be the one coming to get you. Doesn't he have monkeys in fancy black suits for that?"

"You would think, but apparently this one is personal enough to warrant his full attention." I grumbled, flipping open the file folder that had been waiting for me on my workbench when I had arrived home. I scanned over the file slowly.

"This guy doesn't look like much of a threat to someone like Dunbar." Sam muttered, glancing over my shoulder at the file. I couldn't say that I disagreed with him. On paper, Brendan Briggs wasn't exactly the most interesting person. Menial job, no wife, no kids, not even a damned dog. I couldn't see what the problem that Dunbar had with him was.

"Yeah, he looks pretty boring, Mike." Jesse added, leaning his hip against the corner of the workbench. "What about a job? What's he doing these days?"

"Well, it looks like Dunbar's campaign fired him after they found him skimming money from the top of the funds. Now, he's working security at an...oh God." I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger and swiveling the file so that they could read what I had just read.

"Oh, Mikey...infiltrate it from the inside out?"

"Infiltrate it from the inside out." I confirmed quietly. Sam chuckled, swilling down some of the beer in his hand before raising it in mock salute.

"You've had some crazy ideas, but this is by far the craziest. Good luck."

**x xx x xx xx x xx x xx xx x xx x xx xx x xx x xx xx x xx x xx xx x xx x xx xx x **

The hallways were cold and dank as I walked down them, my hands fidgiting in front of my body. I ran my fingers over my arms, making it look like I was trying to warm myself. I shifted my eyes from one dingy wall to the other and mumbled quietly to myself. Sam's arm was warm on my bicep as he lead my to the large reception desk.

"I have a new patient for you." He stated, nudging me forward as he spoke to the pretty young blonde behind the desk. I noted that all of the doors had large alarm boxes over them, and there were several cameras positioned in every possible angle. The facility had a good security system, I had to give them that, though it wasn't like I was acutally surprised. It was to be expected. Across the waiting room, a young man with a mop of dark hair and a teal colored rob wrapped tightly around his anorexic looking form.

"Name?" The blonde woman questioned. I sniffled loudly and scratched at my arms nervously, glancing around before turning back to her.

"Michael. Michael Sturgis." I mumbled, my voice quiet and raspy.

"Okay." She ticked away at the computer for a few more moments. "Diagnosis?"

"Paranoid Schizophrenia." Sam provided, handing her the file that we had fabricated about my "condition". She scanned through it and ticked away at the computer a few more moments.

"Okay, Mister Sturgis, our security guard, Brendan Briggs, is going to escort you to your room. Don't worry Mister..." She stared at Sam a moment, waiting for him to provide a last name as Briggs stepped out of one of the locked doors, his hand resting on the Glock in his holster and beckoning me closer.

"Finley. Charles Finley." Sam replied easily, running his hand over his slicked back hair.

"Well, don't worry, Mister Finley. We'll take good care of Michael until his condition is stable." Briggs' hand closed over my arm, and I threw one last look over my shoulder as Sam walked out of the lobby, the large metal door shutting behind him. Briggs tugged me forward through the locked door and we headed towards my room.

Infiltrating an _asylum_ from the inside out? In retrospect, probably not my best choice. But I had to endure the maddness of it all. For Fiona.

_**I promise that the next chapter will be longer. I've always wonder what it would be like if Mike had to use the cover of someone with some sort of mental illness, so I decided to write it myself. **_

_** Side bar: I am having a satellite box installed in my bedroom Wednesday. They wanted to come Friday, but I told them it needed to be before Thursday at 9p. He understood why without even needing an explination. Burners unite!**_


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Mikey, your comm working?" Sam's deep voice resonated through the ear piece that was shoved so far in my ear canal that it rattled my brain when he spoke.

"Loud and clear, Sam." I replied, not even bothering to worry about keeping my voice low. One of the perks of having a cover ID of a paranoid schizophrenic was that talking to myself was expected. The room that they had stuck me in was tiny, and all of the walls were stark white, matching the bedding and every piece of plastic furniture in the room.

My nose wrinkled when I inhaled the overly sterile scent of the cleaners that they used. The whole building smelled like the inside of the janitor's closet in my high school.

"How are things looking on your end, brother?"

"Well, from what I can tell, security is tight as a drum. Key card entrances to all of the doors, cameras in all of the hallways, the whole shebang." I grumbled, reaching into the pocket of the scrub pants that they had issued me and pulling out the paper clip that I had swiped as we passed the nurse's station. I peeked out of the small window in my door to check that the coast was clear, and then proceeded to pick the lock. The tumblers in the lock clicked into place easily as I turned the paper clip. "But, apparently their lock system leaves something to be desired. I'm out, Sam."

"Good, now we need to move fast. Jesse has us hacked into the camera system, and it looks like the orderlies come by to do rounds every hour on the hour. That means you've got fifty minutes to find Briggs and get out before they freak out and lock the entire facility down."

"No pressure." I grumbled, moving down the hallway cautiously, my back to the wall. "I need you to be my eyes here, guys. Do you guys see Briggs?" I questioned, not wanting to get myself cornered with no intel on where to run to.

"It looks like he's sitting in a patrol shack on the west side of the facility. You're going to need to move fast, because there is a nurse at the other end of the hallway you're in." I cursed under my breath and picked up my pace, careful not to make it look like I was running.

When you're trying to be covert, nothing draws more attention to you than moving at a different pace than everyone else. It's the same idea if you're driving on a highway. Drive faster than everyone else, you're going to draw attention to yourself. On the other hand, if you drive slower than everyone else, it's the same thing. You want to be faster than the slowest car, but slower than the fastest.

When I rounded the corner, I saw two more orderlies at the end, with clipboards clutched in their hands as they talked to each other. Shit. The shadows in the corners of the hallways were the perfect cover, thanks to the sunlight that was rapidly disappearing outside the picture windows that lined the hallway.

I pressed my back against the dark wall, praying that the paint would open up and swallow me as they ended their conversation and one of them began walking towards me.

"Mike, there is a closet about six feet ahead of you, you can duck in there." I breathed a silent thank you and slipped into the closet noiselessly. The smaller of the two orderlies came closer still and I realized that he was coming to the closet. "Oh, this isn't good, Mikey."

"You think I don't know that, Sam?" I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper. When the man stepped into the small space, my hand wrapped around him, covering his mouth as my thumb dug into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He struggled briefly, his screams muffled against my palm, before his body sagged against me and I lowered him to the ground. "New plan, Sam." I stated, quickly switching my clothes for his. I tucked his badge into my pocket and stepped back out into the hallway, the clipboard tucked against my side.

"Now we're impersonating medical professionals? There's a special place in hell for you and me, Mikey." Sam chuckled in my ear as I rounded into another, long hallway. This place seriously looked like something out of a twisted horror movie, with the cement walls, coated in a yellow, viscous fluid that seemed to leak from the creavaces of the ceiling. Wheelchairs littered the hallway, and folded up hospital beds were tucked into the corners. "The guard shack is just up ahead, looks like you've got smooth sailing from here on out. Make it quick, Jesse and I will meet you out front with the car. And Mikey?"

"Yeah, Sam?" I replied, my steps faltering briefly.

"Be careful, brother." I could almost detect a hint of saddness in Sam's voice.

"Will do." Sucking in a deep breath, I moved forward to the door, my hand hovering over the knob. Not for the first time, I found myself wishing that I had my gun as I opened the door. Briggs snapped to attention, popping out of his chair. He wasn't a tall man by any definition, and I had a good six inches on him. His hand moved to his holster, but he didn't pull his gun. I could see his eyes scanning over my face.

"You shouldn't be in here, this is for security personel only." I held up my clipboard.

"I have something that I need your assistance with. Patient is a bit unruly, and I may need some back up."

"Didn't...I thought that you..." He stammered, obviously confused by the situation. His eyes flicked to the cameras briefly, looking for something out of place.

"Come with me, Mister Briggs." I repeated, my voice stronger. He opened his mouth as if he was going to protest, but thought better of it and followed me out of the guard house. Disarming him was easier than I had anticipated. Then again, facilities such as this didn't need top notch security. Most of the guards in these places were police academy hopefuls that had never had the balls to go through with applying themselves.

I dug the gun barrel into the small of his back and began pressing him towards the guard exit in front of us. He struggled briefly, but it ceased when I pulled back the hammer on the gun, effectively stilling his protests.

"What the hell is going on? Who are you?" He whispered, his voice weak and thin. I had a _damned_ hard time believing that a man who could be reduced to a whimpering mess this quickly was anything that Dunbar would have to be worried about.

"My name is Michael Westen. We've got...a mutual friend that wants to see you." I growled. "Open the door." Briggs slid his plastic key card and the door beeped quietly, signaling it was open. We stepped out into the darkness quietly and Sam and Jesse pulled up in the Charger.

"You guys stop for coffee on the way out?" Jesse complained, opening the back door so that I could push Briggs into the seat. I scowled at him.

"It's not exactly a walk in the park trying to break out of an asylum." I grumbled.

"With rent-a-cop here, and the, apparently, very unobservant orderlies, it should have been easier than your yogurt runs."

"Ladies! If you two are finished, we need to get moving, the orderlies just made rounds and realized that Mike is missing." I slipped into the back seat, and Jesse got into the front as we sped off.

We were all silent as we rode to the warehouse that Jesse had secured, save for Briggs' incessant whimpering and pleas to tell him what was going on. When we pulled up to the metal building, I hauled Briggs out, shoving him forward until we got into the warehouse. I quickly went about cuffing him to a chair that we'd bolted to the floor and flicking an overhead light on so that I could see his face better.

"Please, man, I don't want to die. You can't do this to me. Whatever it is, I didn't do it, I have the money to pay him back, I swear! I just need more time." He babbled.

"Good God, would you please just _stop_." I finally snapped, the stress of the situation finally getting to me. "Here's what's going to happen, Briggs. I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer all of them truthfully. Okay? Because, if you lie to me, Brendan, we're going to have an issue. And, believe me, you don't want us to have an issue." I reached down and produced a pair of bolt cutters from the metal table behind me. "Are we clear?

"Y-yes." He stammered, nodding emphatically.

"Good. Now," I paused, pacing the length of the room once before leaning down and bracing my hands on the arms of the chair so that I was directly in his face. "You're going to tell me everything you know about Richard Dunbar."


	6. Chapter 6

_**I'm sorry that this update has taken so long. Between working 50 hour scheduled weeks at work and having surgery on my foot today, I've been so busy that I haven't had time to write. I apologize. **_

__"Dunbar? There's not much that I have to tell about him. I worked on his campaign, he accused me of stealing from him, so he fired me. That's how I got stuck working this dead end security job." Briggs scowled, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"That's it? Come on now, Briggs, I can't help you if you don't want to help yourself." I replied, sighing and pinching the bridge of my nose.

"What are you talking about, man? That's all I know about him!" Briggs strained against the chair.

"BULLSHIT!" I barked, leaning foward and bracing my hands on the arms of the chair so that I was directly in front of his face, our noses almost brushing. "A few thousand dollars missing is no reason for him to put crosshairs on your back."

"C-crosshairs?!" Briggs stammered, his face paling.

"Yeah, crosshairs. Do I have your attention _now_, Briggs?!"

"Why the hell does Dunbar want me dead?" He questioned, his wild eyes fixing on a spot between his feet.

"That's what I'm asking you. So, I need you to tell me what else you know about him."

"I wouldn't push him, Briggs. He's _not_ a patient man." Sam interjected from his spot across the warehouse. He was reclined in a plastic chair, his feet kicked up on a card table. He and Jesse were "casually" playing poker. I'd seen that ruse from them a thousand times, and I was comfortable knowing that they had my back. Briggs' eyes flicked over to Sam briefly before settling back on my face.

"It...it may have been a _bit_ more than just a couple thousand dollars that I stole from the campaign." He muttered, letting his chin drop down. Anger flared through me at the statement. Fiona's life was at stake and he was playing _games_ with me...

My fist connected with the side of his mouth in a wet _slap_ of flesh on flesh, spraying blood-streaked saliva with, potentially, a few of his teeth hit the floor. The punch sent his head snapping backward before lolling forward as he tried to regain focus through the haze that I'm sure he was feeling. Sam's hand on my bicep was the only thing that stopped me from beating him until he was unrecognizable.

"Mikey, I know that you're stressing out here, but we need him _alive_ if we're going to convince Dunbar that we did what he asked and get Fi back in one piece." His voice was gruff as he whispered the rationality that only Sam could bring into a situation like the one we were in.

"Well, actually, Dunbar wants him dead. I could kill the son of a bitch, drop him off on the White House stairs, and wipe our hands of the entire thing. We'd have Fi back, Dunbar would be happy, it'd be fine."

"And Briggs? Would _he_ be fine with that situation?" Sam questioned, quirking his eyebrow as his hand tightened on my shoulder.

"When you steal 'a bit more then a few thousand dollars', you don't get to have a say in the situation." I growled, ignoring the way that Sam's eyes sparked with his own frustration.

"Mike, that isn't how we operate! We're not going to kill a man for stealing some money." I closed my fists around Sam's shirt collar and threw him against the metal wall closest to use. His hot breath rushed across my face as the air left his lungs.

"There is no 'how we operate' when it comes to saving _Fi's life_, Sam!" I snapped, anger surging through my veins at the idea of losing Fiona. I couldn't let that happen. She was...everything.

"I understand that you want her back, Mikey, and we're going to get her, but not this way. Not. This. Way." I could feel Sam's voice trying to penetrate the rushing of blood in my ears, but this was the kind of rage that was so deepseeded that it overthrew even the darkest recesses of my mind.

"Leave me alone, Sam. Let me do this my way."

"Mike, 'your way' is going to wind you up in prison. We're a team. This is how teams operate, they consult each other!" Jesse interjected. I shot him a purely toxic look.

"Without me, this team isn't anything more than a bunch of misfits."

"No! You know what, without you, I would still have my job! I wouldn't have to run around, skulking in the shadows and hiding from the agency I used to live and breathe for! I would have my _life_ still!" Jesse seethed, poking me in the chest roughly. I was about to reach out and snap that damned finger when my phone started ringing. I scowled at him a moment longer before flipping open the phone.

"Yes?" I snarled.

"Now, now, Westen, don't sound so excited to hear from me."

"Dunbar, this really isn't a good time." I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head.

"I don't give half a damned if it's a good time or not. Is the job finished? Did you take care of him?" I could hear the sound of bustling on the other end of the line as Dunbar shifted the receiver.

"I've got him in custody." I replied, my voice sounding arctic even to my own ears.

"I'll be there within the hour."

"How the hell do you know where we are?" I questioned.

"Oh, Michael. I'm the president. I know where _everyone_ is." And then the line went dead.

"I have a bad feeling about this." I muttered.

"I'm right there with you Mike, but what else are we going to do? He kind of has all of the cards in his hand." Sam clapped his hand on my shoulder. I flicked my gaze over to him, and then over to Jesse, who quickly averted his eyes.

"So, now what?" Jesse mumbled. I felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of my stomach.

"Now, we get ready."


	7. Chapter 7

_**So, this is kind of out of left field (I think), but I wanted to take this fic to the next level plot-wise and this seemed like something that could be a breakaway move. Let me know what you guys think!**_

_** I'm sorry this update took so long. **_

__I paced the length of the warehouse, glaring at the doorway as if it had personally offended me with its exsistance. As a spy, there are times that you wrack up "favors owed" from people that are, usually, very powerful. These favors can pull you out of a pretty damned deep hole when they are used correctly. Which was why I decided to pull all the stops, and called in the biggest favor that I could think of.

The heavy metal down swung open and I drew my gun instinctively, the _click_ that echoed when I drew the hammer back soothing my fraying nerves. I supposed that when the sound of a .45 cocking was what it took to calm you down, you'd been in the game too long.

The man that ducked into the warehouse and scowled at me, his brow furrowed, was familiar. His jaw was a chisled line (though it still didn't hold a candle to Sam's Fabio-esque mandible), and his dark blonde hair was swept into the perfect slicked back fashion. He didn't exactly have what you would call an 'intimidating' frame, standing at only five-foot five-inches tall, but the broad expanse of muscle on his chest and shoulders made up for what he lacked in height. A dark charcoal Armani suit clung to his figure as he made quick work of the space seperating us and pressed my arm back to my side.

"Is this how you greet all of your friends? No wonder the word on the street is 'steer clear of Michael Westen'." The man muttered, rolling his sea blue eyes. I gave him a tight lipped smirk and stuck my free hand out in front of me, tucking the gun into my waistband with the other. He chuckled and shook my hand solidly. "A pleasure to see you, as always, Westen." The thick English accent that he spoke with was low and gravely.

"Wish I could say the same, Jack, but you look like hell. All that stout must be catching up with you." I chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. I noticed that Sam and Jesse were staring at us, their eyebrows quirked skyward.

"Uh, Mikey?" Sam interjected as I was about to continue my conversation with Jack. I turned to look at him curiously. "You mind telling us what's going on? You get off the phone with Dunbar, call someone else, everything is all hush-hush and now this guy shows up unannounced."

"Jesse, Sam, this is Jack Scofield, British Intelligence. He owes me a favor, and he's going to help us get Fi back."

"So, let me get this straight," Jesse held his finger up on one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other ones. "007 is here to help us take down the president to get Fi back? Isn't that grounds for some sort of international incident?"

"Not exactly, and I'm not '007', as you put it." Jack scowled, shaking his head at Jesse. "I work with MI6. I don't know if you're aware, but discretion is our specialty."

"Mike, how in the _hell_ did you end up working with an MI6 agent?" Sam questioned, the disbelief evident in his voice. I shook my head and waved him off.

"Look, we don't have time for all these questions. Dunbar is going to be here soon, we need to figure out what the hell we're going to do."

"Simple, he'll be expecting you all to be here, but he won't be expecting to see me. We can surprise him, get the drop of the Secret Service agents and gain the upperhand." Jack stated, as if that weren't the most difficult plan in the entire world.

"We can't just 'get the upperhand' over the Secret Service. They're trained to protect Dunbar with everything they've got." Jesse sighed, running his hands over his close cropped hair.

"Then we're just going to have to bring a little bit more than what they've got. They may be trained Secret Service agents, but we've got an ex-Navy SEAL and three trained spies. It'll take more than a few guys in cheap suits to out-do that. We just need to play it cool and keep him from getting suspicious." I replied, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back against the doorframe.

"Right, and while you men have him distracted, I'll take care of the rest. Follow my lead." Jack finished.

"Excuse me? Can I...can I leave? I mean, if you guys are going to go all Black Ops on Dunbar, that means you don't need me, right?" Came Briggs' meek voice. I wheeled on him so quickly that it nearly made my head spin, but I ignored it and crowded into his face once again.

"No, that means you get to sit in your chair, quietly, like a good boy. If you can do that then maybe, just _maybe_, I'll let you keep your liver where it's supposed to be, not in a jar. Clear?" I gave him a shark smile, and he nodded rapidly, his eyes wide with fear. "Good." I ruffled his hair roughly once before moving away. I was glancing at my watch, checking the time, just as I heard the sound of SUVs outside the warehouse. "Showtime, boys, everyone clear on the plan?"

"Oh, so we _do_ have a plan?" Sam questioned sarcastically. "'Cause, to me, it sounded like Austin Powers had a plan, and we were just the bait."

"Sam, we do _not_ have time for this!" I barked as Jack scurried out of sight and got into position. Sam and Jesse both looked at one another, hurt flashing over their features briefly before it was replaced with steely focus. Moments later, the door to the warehouse opened and Dunbar strode in, accompanied by two Secret Service agents.

"Ah, Westen, you came through." Dunbar clasped his hands together in front of his face like a little kid on Christmas morning. "You truly are as good as they say you are, aren't you?"

"That's what they tell me. Now, where's Fiona?"

"She's still in that secure location, Michael. I needed to make sure that you had really come through with your side of the bargain." He circled Briggs once and smirked at me. "Uncuff him, please." I quirked an eyebrow at him, my hand hovering just to the right of my gun.

"Why would I do that?"

"Um..." Dunbar tapped his finger on his chin and feigned thought for a moment. "Because I have your girlfriend held up in a compound somewhere, and if you don't do as I say, she won't make it to dinner time?" I glared bullets at the man, but moved to unlock the cuffs anyway. Briggs took a shaky step out of the chair, rubbing at his wrists gently.

The sound of gunfire drew my attention across the warehouse to where Jack had taken out both of the Secret Service agents, leaving him standing over them with his gun smoking. Dunbar's face was pale white when I turned back to him, drawing my gun and pressing it to his forehead.

"Now, let's try this again," I growled, my voice dropping two more octaves. "Where. Is. Fiona?"

"Oh, Mister Westen, I wouldn't do that if I were you." He chuckled, his face regaining some color as his eyes locked with mine.

"Well, then it's a good thing that you aren't me, isn't it? Where the fuck is she?!" I snapped, pressing the barrel further into his head and dropping the hammer back. My finger slipped easily into the trigger guard.

"You can kill me if you want to, but you won't ever figure out where she is, and you'll have every agency with an acronym on your doorstep before sunrise." He snarled in response, his face hardening from the usual self-satisfied smirk he wore.

"You're going to take me to her. Now."

"Acutally, Michael, I'm not." A gun cocked behind me and a strong, skilled arm wrapped around my throat, pulling me away from Dunbar roughly.

"Drop your weapons." Came the rough voice.

"Son of a _bitch_." Jesse hissed from the corner. I saw Jesse, and Sam dropping their weapons slowly.

"Both of you too." The statement was directed at Jack and me. Lowering the gun to my side, I let up the hammer and let the gun clatter to the cement loudly, but I noticed that Jack maintained his rigid stance, his L9A1 outstretched in front of him.

"Just do what he said, Scofield." I hissed, glaring daggers.

"Not happening, mate, I owe you a favor, and I intend to come through on it." Dunbar heaved a heavy sigh and pulled a gun from his waist with surprising speed, and fired before I could blink. Jack crumpled into a bloodied heap on the cement floor, leaving me slack jawed at the sight. He groaned loudly and clutched at where the bullet had struck his shoulder. I could see blood blossoming on the white shirt he wore.

"What the _fuck_?!" I snapped my gaze back to where Dunbar was meticulously wiping down the gun before kicking all of our weapons to the far side of the warehouse and doing the same with the gun in his hand.

"It took you long enough to get here, Dunbar. I thought you weren't going to show." The voice behind my head grumbled.

"Yes, well, I expected Westen to move a bit faster than he did."

"Is our extract ready to go?"

"Waiting out front. We need to move." The gun barrel dug into the back of my skull as I felt myself being pulled backwards towards the door.

"Now, I know you boys are going to be sorely tempted to come running after us, guns blazing, all of that Clint Eastwood cowboy-crap, but I wouldn't suggest it. The pilot of our extract has guns trained on this building. First man that comes out that door before we're gone is going to have some serious lead poisoning issues. Are we clear? Fantastic." Briggs shoved me into the center of the warehouse, and I instinctively reached for the pistol attached to my ankle. "Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Unless you want to have your buddy stuffed and mounted on your wall to keep you company." I noted that the pistol in his hand had swung towards Sam and cursed under my breath.

"Briggs, we seriously need to move." Dunbar urged, both of them walking backwards towards the door. My hands flexed at my sides as I stared after them, my entire body thrumming with barely contained anger, until they disappeared and the loud _thuck thuck thuck _of chopper blades faded away. I stared at the door a moment longer before growling low in my throat.

"Son of a bitch."


	8. Chapter 8

_**So, this loops around to the first chapter. It is written slightly differently this time around, and...yeah.**_

"What the fuck are we supposed to do now, Mikey?" Sam snapped as I ran over to where Jack was silently squirming on the cement floor. I tore the belt free from his belt loops and cinched it a few inches above the wound. Jack let out a growl, his back arching off the ground.

"Now?" I snarled with a laugh that bordered on manic as I went to work tearing a strip off of Jack's shirt and pressing it to the wound. "Now we follow that bastard and we persuade him to tell us where Fi is."

"Mike, that all sounds fine and dandy, but we have _no clue_ where they're going. And, I mean, I understand that you're pissed. We're all pissed, and we all want Fi back, but he's the president. It's not like we can just look him up in the yellow pages."

"No." I hesitated, standing to my feet and hauling Jack up as well. I ignored the groan of pained protest and looked at Sam, my eyes cold. "But we know where he's going to be. There's a fundraiser tomorrow in D.C., if we leave now we can make it before the fundraiser. Ambush him. But first we've got to get this wound stitched up." I gestured to the blood slowly oozing from Jack's shoulder.

"Road trip?" Jesse questioned from his position across the warehouse. I shot him a glance and nodded.

"Road trip."

_Washington D.C._

"Good evening, Mister...?"

"Erikson, Mack Erikson." I replied, tucking my hands into the pocket of my tuxedo jacket. I glanced around the crowd of people behind me on the steps of the White House, making sure that I didn't come off as paranoid. Turns out that paranoia tends to tip off twitchy-trigger fingers in overpaid Secret Service members. The man at the door gave me a less than thorough pat down.

"Ah, yes, here you are, Mister Erikson. Here's your identification badge, have a nice time this evening." I nodded my thanks at Jesse, who happened to have gotten a gig as 'Marcus Alexander' working the door at the fundraiser.

I swept through the doors and was immediately hit with the sounds of a string quartet, and the laughter of people who made far too much money to stand in front of people and flat out lie to them. I know I'm not exactly one to complain about the whole "your lies are your life" lifestyle, but politicians make my skin crawl.

I snagged a champagne flute off of a tray that a well dressed waiter that had passed me, and scanned the crowd once again. There were several doors through out the building, and the floor was buzzing with activity from the groups of people that were milling about.

"Alright, Mikey, it looks like Dunbar is in his office with Briggs. He's got two Secret Service guys posted outside the door, plus men at all of the exits. We're going to need to move fast if we want to get in and out without a one way ticket to Guantanamo. I don't know about you guys, but I'm not a fan of being water-boarded."

"Sam, less idle chit-chat, more telling me where I need to go." I hissed into the champagne flute.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. You need to get to the back left corner of the room, there's going to be a hallway that you need to go down, third door on the left. Briggs has just left the office, so Dunbar is alone. Now or never, Mike."

"Thanks, Sam. Wish me luck."

"Knock 'em dead, brother." The comm went silent and I took a deep breath. There is a moment, before a big job gets set into the downward slope of forward, unstoppable motion, that you have to recenter your mind. One misstep, one wrong piece of intel delivered to someone who knows a bit too much about the situation you're trying to infiltrate, and you die. With Fiona's life on the line, I was not going to make mistakes. I _could not_ make mistakes.

I moved quickly and quietly through the throngs of people, excusing myself where it was necessary, and headed down the hallway that Sam had dictated. As I got closer, I began staggering slightly, the champagne hanging loosely from my fingers. I caught sight of the Secret Service members in front of the door moving towards me, their hands on the weapons.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to return to the fundraiser." The taller of the two men stated as I finally got within arms length of the pair. I gave him a crooked smile and waved the champagne flute absently.

"Well, hello. M'just lookin' for the bathroom. Gotta take a leak longer than the UN guest list." I chuckled, dropping my head to the smaller guy's shoulder. He scowled down at me and pressed his fingers into my shoulder, shoving me away. "Woah, woah there, Big Dog. No trouble here." I shuffled to the left, "accidently" spilling the champagne on the tall one. "Oh, geeze, I'm sorry." I reached out and brushed at the wet spot on his shirt. It was only when he reached out to stop me that I leveled a hard punch under his jaw, knocking him cleanly off his feet.

I dropped an elbow into the other man's throat and watched him collapse into a heap, clutching at his throat until his head sagged backwards against the wall. Surveying my handy-work, I shook my head and dragged their bodies to the corner of the hallway where the light of the party didn't quite reach so that they were shroud in shadows. It was kind of pathetic that it had been _that_ easy to disarm men that were supposed to be guarding the Commander in Chief. I snagged one of their weapons and moved back to the door, taking a breath before kicking the door in.

Dunbar startled from his position behind the large desk. To be honest, I took a bit of joy in the look of shock on his face.

"W-Westen. What the hell are you doing here? I thought you couldn't leave Miami."

"Turns out I don't burst in flames when I cross that city limits line." I snapped, moving closer in a blur of motion. I had the gun drawn and outstretched in front of me before Dunbar could react. "Where is she?" I snarled, the gun extended in front of me as anger surged through my body. Dunbar sat there, the picture of tranquility, with that self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

"Mister Westen, I think that we need to calm down here." He muttered, wagging his finger at me like he had some God-given right to tell me what to do. I took a step closer and placed the gun against his forehead. Talk about deja vu.

"I don't think that you're in much of a position to be negotiating, here, Dunbar."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong. I'm always in a position to negotiate. That's what's so wonderful about being me. Now, Miss Glenanne is currently still safe, but we need to have a discussion about what I need you to do for me." He stood from the large, overstuffed chair and moved around the desk to stand in front of the large picture window. I chuckled breathlessly and shook my head.

"We did what you asked us to do! We brought you Briggs, even though he, apparently, wasn't exactly what you said he was. We got the job done. Now you need to hold up your end of the deal!"

"I don't _need_ to do anything!" Dunbar snapped. He crossed his hands behind his back and hesitated half a second before turning to face me. I leveled a hard glare at him as Sam's voice crackled to life in the comm in my ear.

"Mikey, we've got units mobile. They found the Secret Service guys you took out. Jesse and Jack are on their way to the safehouse. We need to wrap this up and get out like ten minutes ago." I lifted my hand to my ear.

"I hear you, but he's not talking. I have to find out where he's hiding her."

"You're not going to figure that out, Westen. This isn't going to do you a damnde bit of good." Dunbar growled, breaking the serene facade.

"WHERE IS FIONA?!" I snapped, surging forward and wrapping my hand in the lapel of his suit jacket before throwing him against the extensive book case. I slammed his head back against the wooden shelves until a trickle of blood trailed down his neck.

"You think that, after all of this time, after coordinating that burn notice on you, I would give up this easily?" The man said with a sadistic chuckle. I gaped at him for a moment, at a loss for words.

"But...but I thought..."

"You thought what? That you'd found the man that issued your burn notice? You did. But, the thing is, things are not always as simple as they seem. You, of all people should know that, Mister _Erikson_." He chuckled, reaching up and flicking the name tag on my chest.

The sound of glass breaking away had my attention turning to where Sam had cut a hole in the glass of the window behind the large desk.

"We need to GO!" He barked, waving his hand. I hesitated half a second before growling my frustration and dragging Dunbar out the window behind me. I burrowed the gun into his back under his tuxedo jacket and followed Sam down to the street.

"Say a word and I will blow a hole through you." I whispered into Dunbar's ear. He, thankfully, remained silent as we blended into the swarms of people and made our way to the car, climbing in and tearing away from the curb.

We were halfway down the street before I glanced in the rearview mirror and watched the White House disappearing into the skyline, the building illuminated by the approaching police lights. Sam finally broke the silence with a scoff and pointed at Dunbar accusingly.

"You can _not_ count on my vote when reelection time comes up, pal." I tightened my hands on the steering wheel and gritted my teeth. "We'll get her back, Mike. I promise." I couldn't help the curl of fear in my stomach as we pulled into the safehouse and dragged Dunbar inside. There was a tiny part of my being that thought maybe, just maybe, Sam was wrong. But I knew that I would do anything in my power to save her.

"You guys aren't going to get away with this." Dunbar snarled as Jesse tightened the restraints on the chair that we'd put him in.

"Oh, boy, here we go." Jesse rolled his eyes. "Are you going to play the whole 'I know friends in high places, you won't make it past dinner' thing again? Because, I think we've more than proven that we're capable of outsmarting your friends." I crossed the room, tossing my suit jacket on a chair, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows and untying my bowtie, before grabbing the jumper cables. I touched the metal pieces together briefly enough to create a spark, and smiled down at Dunbar's frightened face.

"Now, let's discuss where you're keeping Fi. This can be really easy, or really hard. I'll leave that up to you." I murmured, my voice gravelly.

"Fuck. You" He replied through clenched teeth.

"Hard way it is." The sparks scorched his skin and his back arched off of the chair when I touched the cable teeth to his skin. I had a feeling this wouldn't take long...


	9. Chapter 9

The scent of burnt flesh permeated the air around us nearly an hour later. Dunbar's head was slouched against his chest, his breathing ragged. His skin was covered with small burn marks from the arching current of electricity running through him.

"I'm going to ask you again, Dunbar," I snarled, my voice rough and tired from the exhaustion of screaming at him. "Where. Is. Fiona?" He lifted his head slowly, his eyes glazed over and unfocused, but he stared straight at me.

"Fuck you." He replied on a rasped breath. Anger boiled just below the surface until it erupted, my fist connecting with his temple hard enough that I felt the sick crunching of bone beneath my knuckles. He groaned low in his throat and shook his head, a trickle of blood running down his face before mixing with sweat and grime already clinging to his skin.

"Wrong answer, Dunbar. Now," I straddled the chair in front of him and drug on of the cables down his face slowly. He flinched away, but said nothing. "Obviously your buddy Briggs isn't as keen on coming to rescue you as we are about rescuing Fiona. He's not coming, so you may as well just cooperate. Things will go a lot smoother for you." He gave a sadistic chuckle and shook his head.

"You think that I haven't read your file? I know that you did interrogation work in the Army. I know that you worked as an outsourced agent with the CIA. Hell, I know all about the extenuating circumstances of your burn notice. The thing is, Michael, you don't scare me. I'm not someone that you can bully into submission. I'm a God damned politician. I deal with scarier men in meetings daily."

"You don't have to be afraid of me for me to beat you within an inch of your life, Dunbar." I snapped, my large hand wrapping around his throat tightly. He let out a wheezing laugh and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Kill me and you'll never find your girlfriend."

"TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!" My foot connected solidly with his chest and sent him sprawling backwards wiht the chair. The red, welted imprint of my hand was already becoming visible on the ivory skin of his throat. Dunbar coughed and hacked loudly, his head shaking from side to side vigorously.

"Woah, _woah_, Mikey! If you kill him, he can no longer tell us where Fi is, okay? We need him alive. Why don't you take five? Take a walk, and get some air. I'll keep an eye on Dunbar. Jesse and Jack should be back from the store soon." Sam stated, his huge hand warm and solid on my shoulder. I was all set to protest, but I knew that he was right. I wasn't doing the inestigation any good in that mental state, so I nodded and ducked out the side door.

The air in D.C. was much cooler then it was in Miami, and it hit me like a train. I sucked in a deep breath, carding my fingers through my hair until it stood up in a thousand different directions. The whole situation was FUBAR, and, to that point, there had been nothing to do to make it better. I missed Fiona. I missed her enough that the simple action of sucking in a breath was enough to make me feel like there was an elephant sitting on my chest.

As a spy, you don't like to admit that you need people, as true as that may be. You need your assets or you would be hung out to dry and strung up by your toes in the middle of the town square before sunrise. When you get out of the agency, that same wariness of needing people is always there. Fiona is one of the few people in the world that I can openly admit to needing. I need her like I need air, and I'm not afraid to let her know. Well...for the most part.

I was halfway done with my walk around the warehouse when the gun shots erupted. I sprinted back to the door, drawing my gun from my waistband. I hesitated, my back pressed against the building, and took note of the fact the black SUV parked outside the warehouse. I took a deep breath and slipped into the partially open door soundlessly.

"Hold it right there, Westen." Briggs snarled. I was pretty sure that my heart was pounding so hard that it was going to break all of my ribs when my eyes connected with Fiona's. Sam was hovering close to where I stood, his own gun extended toward Briggs, but the other man was strategically placing himself behind Fiona.

"No shot, Mike." Sam whispered, his voice barely above a breath. I gave him a small nod before lowering my gun.

"Oh, no need to put your weapon away, Westen. Axe, you drop your weapon and kick it over here." Sam scowled at Briggs, looking like he was going to protest. "Try to play hero and you'll end up like your friends." My breath stopped when I caught sight of Jesse clutching his leg and Jack unmoving in the corner of the warehouse. They must have returned as Briggs was trying to make his move. Collateral damage. That's what the agency would have called them. I knew better.

Sam scowled, dropped the magazine from his gun, ejected the bullet and slid it across the floor. Briggs gave us a shark smile from behind Fiona. My eyes locked with hers, and I immediately regretted ever getting her into a situation like this. She looked terrified, had dried blood clinging to her skin, and she looked like she hadn't slept since this whole ordeal started (I couldn't blame her, really. Neither had I.), but she still looked devestatingly beautiful.

"Okay, now what do you want, Briggs?" I questioned, my eyes never leaving Fiona's. I was trying to tell her that everything was going to be alright and that I was going to get us out of this alive. I'm Michael Westen, after all. This is what I live for. Or...well, maybe when I was younger.

"I want you to take that little Sig of yours," He gestured to the gun hanging in my fingers. "And I want you to put it to Sam's forehead, and pull the trigger." My heart sunk.

"You want me to...I am not going to kill Sam!" I snapped, the sound of his sadistic laughter enough to drive me crazy. He wanted me to _kill_ my best friend.

"Well, then Miss Glenanne here is going to get a bullet through the skull in his place." I didn't even notice Sam stepping closer to me until I felt his hand wrap around my wrist. My eyes flicked to his face as he pulled my hand up and pressed the barrel of the gun to his forehead. He gave me a small, sad smile.  
"Sam, I..."

"Mikey, you know what you need to do. You gotta get Fi back. I've lived a full life. God knows that, with you, it's hard to live anything but." He laughed softly and bit back a sniffle.

"I'm not going to...I can't...why are you doing this?" I stammered, my eyes flicking between Fiona and Sam.

"He's right, Sam. You can't expect Michael to _kill_ you to save me. Just let him kill me." Fiona pleaded. The words made me want to puke. I had to choose between the woman I loved and my best friend. There _had_ to be another way...logically, I knew that there wasn't. I'd reviewed every avenue of possibility in my head a thousand times, but I couldn't see any options.

"Tick tock, Westen, I don't have all day. I have a plane to Dubai to catch." Briggs shook his watch clad wrist at me.

"Why are you doing this?" I questioned, tears hovering on the corners of my eyes.

"Because, ten years ago, a man from America came to my country." Briggs replied, his voice thick with a Russian accent that he hadn't had before. I had a _bad_ feeling about where this conversation was going... "And that American came in, killed my father because he was _collateral damage_, and infiltrated the company that my father worked for to get information. He was a night security guard. He had NOTHING to do with the information that you were looking for, and yet you ripped him away from me like he was notebook paper. Now, you're going to see what it's like to have someone you love ripped away for no reason!"

Sam regained my attention when he pressed the gun harder against his forehead. His eyes were watery, but strong as he stared back at me.

"It's time." He whispered, his voice broken.

"Sam, I _can't_." I shook my head and tried to pull the gun away, but he wouldn't let me.

"That's why you don't have to, Mikey. I love you, brother. Take good care of Fi. Oh, and, uh...don't tell Elsa that this was your fault. Tell her that I made the decision." He added, his finger slipping into the trigger guard over mine. I tried my damnest to pull away, but Sam held fast, his other hand reaching out and grasping my shoulder.

"No." I replied, attempting to sound firm in the command, but my voice came out sounding broken and weepy. "No, Sam, _please_." I shook my head slowly. Before I had a chance to protest anymore, Sam had already applied the 4.5 pounds of pressure that it took for my Sig to fire. A scream tore from Fi as his body crumpled to the cement floor.

A coldness seeped through my entire body as I stood over Sam, the gun smoking in my hand. I turned to face Briggs slowly, the sound of his laughter making my skin crawl. I swallowed around the acidic taste of bile in my throat before I spoke.

"He was a _good_ man, Briggs. He didn't deserve to die for something he didn't commit."

"NEITHER DID MY FATHER." Briggs moved towards the door, Fiona still clutched in his grasp.

"Let her go." I growled, my entire body beginning to hum with adrenaline. I felt like I could go ten rounds with a crocodile.

"As soon as I have insurance that I can get out of here alive. Walk me to my truck, Westen." I stalked after them, tucking my gun in my waistband slowly. He walked backwards, his eyes on me until his back hit the door of the SUV. He opened it and manuevered himself into the driver's seat. "I'm going to let her go now, and I'm going to drive away. And you will _not_ go to the police about this. Because, if you do, you're going to have to explain why the president is tied to a chair in _your_ warehouse with jumper cable burns all over him. Now, if you're as smart as they say you are, you'll get back in there, kill Dunbar, get rid of those bodies, and move on with your life."

He shoved Fiona forward into my arms as he slammed the door shut. He threw the SUV into reverse and began to pull away. I held Fiona tightly to me, my hands running over her hair as she sobbed into the creases of my shirt, and I glared after the SUV.

We both jumped nearly a foot when the vehicle exploded nearly nine-hundred feet down the road. A fiery inferno ate the black metal and soared upward as if it were trying to attack the sky. When I turned around, I saw Dunbar, leaning heavily against the doorway with a detonator in his hand.

"What?" He questioned, his voice still raspy. "You think I wouldn't have put an insurance plan of my own in place? That bastard left me here to die after forcing me to work with him. He told me that, if I didn't help him find you, he was going to kill my family, and then he _left_ me here. I am a diplomatic man, Mister Westen, but sometimes problems cannot be solved with diplomacy." He wagged the detonator matter-of-factly at me.

"For those times, there's C4." I replied, glancing down at Fiona. She nodded, as if to say that Dunbar was telling the truth.

"I still don't quite understand what all of this means, but I am very sorry about your friend." Dunbar continued. "He was a brave man to do what he did. I don't know if you are a religious man-."

"You tend to lose a lot of faith when you've seen what I've seen." I grumbled.

"Yes, well...sometimes when you feel you've lost all of your faith is when you need it the most, Michael. The bible states that 'greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for the lives of his friends'."

"John 15:13."

"You see? Perhaps you haven't lost everything." He replied with a small smirk. "Now, I believe there are a couple of men in there that could use some serious medical attention, and I wouldn't deny a trip to the doctor myself, so..." Right...Jesse and Jack...

I released Fiona slowly and made my way back into the warehouse. Fiona and Dunbar brushed past me to go check on them, but I remained frozen in place. I didn't even feel the impact of the cement floor against my knees as I collapsed next to Sam. With shaking hands, I reached out and pulled him into my lap. His blood was warm as it soaked through the material of my pants.

"Michael..." Fiona's voice was soft and directly next to my ear as she settled onto the ground next to me. I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream, and to be pissed, and to put a bullet hole in the skull of everyone who'd ever threatened anyone that mattered to me. But, instead, the only thing that I could manage was a strangled whimper into the crook of Fiona's next when she pulled me into her arms.

I stayed there, my fingers already beginning to stick together with the residue of drying blood. The tacky feeling had my stomach churning as I watched Jack struggling to help Jesse to his feet. I knew that there was something I should be doing other than sitting there, but I..._couldn't_. I pulled my shaking body from Fiona's arms and wrapped my arms back around Sam.

Fiona stood slowly to help get the others into the vehicle we had out front, but I barely noticed. My gaze remained locked on Sam's face as I ran a bloodstained hand across his skin. I had gotten Fiona back. I'd gotten everything that I wanted out of the situation, and yet my best friend was still dead.

There's a part of all of us that will never be perfect, that will never be complete, but it's a part that is made a bit less prominent with the presence of our family. Of the people that love us. When part of that is ripped away from us, it makes our shortcomings painfully visible. But, it's not just our own failures that we realize in a moment of tragedy.

It the deep struggle to indentify the last strands of humanity in a world where nothing is what we have known for so long. It's the dawning realization that the greatest danger to all of us is the monster within. It's the realization that, reguardless of what we're fighting for, this is how the world will end; Not with a bang, but with a whimper.


End file.
